


But I Can Carry You

by Whreflections



Series: BSB OT5 Verse [1]
Category: Backstreet Boys
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Cousin Incest, Drug Addiction, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M, Minor Character Death, POV Brian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 07:21:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3683145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whreflections/pseuds/Whreflections
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(or, four times Brian Littrell carried his boys, and one time they carried him)</p><p>Inspired by the fact that Brian's arms are ridiculous and he can pick up everyone...well, that and the fact that he's also good at taking care of everyone.  Some of this painful, but I promise some isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 01. AJ

**Author's Note:**

  * For [purpleyedemon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleyedemon/gifts).



> This one is all Kyrie's fault, basically. (and I love that :D)
> 
> I have to say, I'm a little nervous posting this. I always am writing for a new fandom, but this fandom it's...it's very old and established and from what I can gather most of the writers have been doing this for YEARS. I've been writing for years now but not for these boys and just...
> 
> I'm getting back into this world, and coming into it with fic writer's eyes for the first time. I guess what I'm worried about most is that my level of authenticity when it comes to references to real dates and events won't match up to the people who've been doing this forever, so...I guess that's my disclaimer. My information may not all be perfect, but I'm doing my best to tell good stories anyway. I hope you guys enjoy them. <3

**01\. AJ**

Brian wakes up to raised voices.  He’s more shocked that he fell asleep than he is by the argument; if that doesn’t sum the last few months up in a nutshell he’s not really sure what would.  He unfolds himself off the couch, stops only to pull his shoes on before heading up to the doors of the bus.  They’re open already, words drifting to him long before he can see a damn thing.

“—you know I’m sick of this so don’t _bullshit_ me; if I hadn’t come to pick you up—“

“I’d have come back later; _Christ_ will you stop yelling you’re—“

“—you’d have driven that damn car back; could’ve _killed_ yourself and you think I—“

“Stop fuckin’ screaming at him!  He feels like shit can’t you just—“

“Nick, would you get off me and get back on the bus?” 

“Oh _fuck_ that; you can’t fucking shuffle me off anymore!  I’m tryin’ to help you, I—“

“I can take care of myself; get on the goddamn bus and leave me the hell alone!”

Brian reaches the steps just in time to see the aftermath of AJ’s latest retort, the way Nick pulls back painfully slow, his hands still holding the shape they’d had against AJ’s back.  The look in his eyes reminds Brian too much of years ago in Orlando, broken promises and the way he’d looked so goddamn lost the first time his mom hadn’t turned up at the airport. 

He’d be a hell of a lot angrier if AJ wasn’t so huddled into the pavement, grasping at it like it’s about to spin out of his reach.  Arguing with Kevin’s gotta be taking just about everything he’s got, and Kevin’s _still_ going at it. 

“Do you even _hear_ yourself?  He’s out here tryin’ to stand up for you and you can’t even—“

Nick shoves himself to his feet, dusting his hands a little too hard against his pants.  “I’m fine.”

“It’s _not_ fine; Nick—“

“Get back on the bus?  That’s what you wanna say too, isn’t it?  I mean maybe you’ll say it nicer but all the same—“

“ _Hey_.”  Brian’s heard about enough.  He’s not even sure they noticed him until now, but he’s loud enough to do the trick.  Kevin and Nick look back.  AJ grips the asphalt until his knuckles go white.  He’s trembling and the ground’s wet, full of melted snow and salted ice and mud.  Kevin’s furious and terrified and Nick’s worried and scared and of those three pains pulling hard at his ribs Brian’s not sure which direction will pull hard enough that he cracks.  It’s enough to make him glad Howie sleeps the way he does, fast and hard and oblivious. 

Their eyes are still on him.  Brian sighs into the silence he bought, steps down quick off the bus and into the full force of 2 AM cold.  He’s only wearing a hoodie and sweatpants; the cold cuts so deep through both he can feel his skin hurt. 

“ _Everybody_ needs to get back on the bus.  It’s past 2 in the mornin’ and you guys are out here carryin’ on loud enough to wake the dead.”  He expects to hear a little more anger in his own voice, but the exhaustion’s too thick.  He feels it, distantly, but anger’s hard to maintain.  He’s too tired, too sore to keep it up.  “Look I realize I may regret asking this, but what happened?” 

“He said he was going out with a friend of his up from Madison, wouldn’t be gone two hours.”  The way Kevin says _friend_ like it’s acid on his tongue tells Brian everything, not that he wouldn’t be able to figure it out anyway.  AJ’s got friends in every town lately, a contact for every eventuality.  The fury in the tightness of Kevin’s jaw is very real, but the way he stands closer to AJ than he really needs to, that says something too.  He hovers over him like a guardian, like a lion with a cub between his paws.  “He didn’t answer his phone, so I went out to get him and he’s like this, can hardly stay on his feet thirty seconds, throwing up every time he moves five feet, but he was gonna come back here—“

“Alright, alright.”  Brian throws his hand up, hoping to stop him before he really gets going.  Once Kevin starts yelling, he’s hard to slow down.  “Look, how about we finish talking about this tomorrow, okay?  Right now, we gotta get back inside.  It’s too cold, and we’ve leavin’ in about four hours.” 

“Which part do you want to talk about, the part where he coulda killed himself or talking to Nick like—“

“Would you stop fuckin’ talking about me like I’m not here; I wasn’t—“

AJ and Kevin overlap, talking over each just loud enough that it almost hides the sound of Nick’s retreat back up the stairs.  There’s a twitch in Brian’s chest that pulls him backwards, drawing him toward Nick like the jerk of a string.  It’s hard to resist, but right now it’s AJ who needs him more.  He can’t leave him with Kevin, not if he wants to keep this fight from getting worse than it already is. 

Nick leaving shut them both up for a total of maybe two seconds, but Brian knows if he doesn’t cut in quick they’ll be at it again in no time.  He drops down into a crouch, rests his hand on AJ’s shoulder only to have it shaken off, clumsy and inefficient. 

“Jus’ leave me the hell alone.” 

“You know I can’t do that.  It’s probably about five degrees out here.”  He keeps his voice soft, reaches out again to stroke the short hair at the nape of AJ’s neck.  He still twitches away but it’s light, tired. 

“ ‘m not cold.”

“No, cause you’re drunk.  You’ll be cold in a couple hours though, trust me.” 

“He’ll have hypothermia in two hours.”  Kevin’s not yelling, but even muttered the bitterness flashes hard as glass.  He drops down to Brian’s level, flexes his hand like he’s about to reach for AJ’s shoulder. 

Before he can, Brian catches him.  “Will you check on Nick?  Let me handle this?” 

For a long moment, Kevin doesn’t say a word.  He stares at the rise and fall of AJ’s ribs like he’s drinking it in, like if he so much as blinks the next beat won’t come.  His hand’s gone limp in Brian’s grip and it stays that way, even when Brian squeezes, even when he strokes his thumb against the back of his knuckles.  Brian can’t help but wish AJ could see this, the way Kevin looks at him when AJ’s too lost to know it. 

Kevin’s hand slips from his, drawn back slow to rest against his knee.  His thumb traces each fingertip in indecision, and Brian thinks that if he reaches out to AJ again, he won’t stop him.  The silence stretches, and when he seems no closer to making up his mind, Brian presses his palm fully just under AJ’s shirt, between his shoulders.  He doesn’t quite pull away this time, just scrunches up a little and moans like he hurts.  Kevin blinks too quickly, exhales hard and shoves himself to his feet before Brian can get a good last look. 

“Fine.  Handle it.”

Without the chance to see the in-between, the venom in his voice is all AJ knows.  Brian feels him flinch, rubs lightly at his spine like he can smooth the pain of Kevin leaving out beneath his fingers. 

“Fuck off, Brian.”  AJ mumbles, lips half pressed to the ground.  He sounds weaker, drained. 

Brian shifts his weight for balance, lets his left hand come to rest at the back of AJ’s knee.  “You want to get rid of me, you’ll have to get up and go in.” 

“ ‘ve slept on the ground before.”

“Yeah.  In Orlando.  And Austin.”  Brian slides his arm carefully under AJ’s legs, tugs gently at his shoulder.  It’s hard picking him up when he’s dead weight, even harder if he struggles.  The way he shrugs against Brian’s hand is weak now though, almost all the fight gone out of him without Kevin to push against.  “Come on, help me out a little.  I gotta get you inside.” 

“You don’t have to.”  He mutters under his breath, dark and so heavy he’s hard to hear, but they know each other too well, backwards and forwards and every direction in between.  He hears the hollow note AJ always tries his best to bury, the lingering fear he can never seem to shake that someday, they’ll all realize exactly how much he’s worth. 

Brian already knows how much he’s worth; he’s known for ages. 

He scoops AJ up gently, careful to help tuck AJ’s head against his shoulder.  Once he’s got him up AJ holds on tight, too thin arms wrapping shockingly strong around Brian’s neck.  The press of bone against the back of his neck is so hard it hurts but there’s relief in the pain strong enough that he hums low in his throat, turns his head just enough to kiss AJ’s temple.

“Hey, it’s okay.  I got you.  Let’s go get you warm.” 

“Probably not such a good idea.  Know I’m gonna throw up again.”

“Well, if luck holds we can get you in some dry clothes first.”

“The luck I’ve been havin’ so far tonight—“

“Is impressive; you made it back here.”  Well, _he_ didn’t make it back and Brian doesn’t really believe luck had anything to do with it, but in principal the point still stands.      He steps inside, shuts the door behind him with a press of his hip against the lever.  In his arms AJ squeezes at him so fiercely it’s hard to breathe, nuzzles into the soft skin of Brian’s throat until he can feel the way AJ’s eyelids are fluttering, shut too tight.  Five minutes ago he didn’t want Brian to touch him; now he’s pulling at Brian like he can soak him in through his skin.  AJ’s always been a creature of extremes. 

Brian sighs, lets his eyes close as he kisses the disheveled spikes of AJ’s hair.  In the distance he can hear Kevin and Nick talking, a low murmur in a rhythm that’s just a little off.  He breathes in deep, smells whiskey and smoke and sweat and oil, hates how none of it seems foreign, not the fighting, not the disheveled mess AJ is in his arms.  It’s only February and Brian already feels more bone weary than he usually does at the end of the tour.  They can’t go on like this, they _can’t_ but the ride they’re on is one that hasn’t stopped for five seconds since 1992.  If there’s an answer between those two absolutes, Brian’s too tired to find it. 

\-------

At 5 AM, the world beyond the parking lot is still heavy and black.  The streetlights leave the stretch between with a weird glow Brian watches through the window, eerier in their lack of moths than they would be in the summer.  For Kevin, this has always been the worst time of year, the dead months past Christmas and before the first breath of spring.  Brian was born into this in-between, four days from now in fact, but if he’s honest he’s not all that fond of it himself.  He wonders sometimes what that says.

On the floor between his legs AJ stirs, and though Brian’s hands fall to his back out of habit in case he needs help sitting up, it’s clear quick he’s not going anywhere.  Maybe, maybe he’s finally thrown up enough that there’s literally nothing left, maybe the way he’s nestling into Brian’s thigh now means he’s actually got a chance at getting a few hours rest. 

“Brian?”  His voice is like the scratch of chalk on concrete, so grating and thick it makes Brian hurt.  He says nothing, just strokes AJ’s cheek with the back of his knuckles to let him know he’s been heard.  “I shouldn’t have…I’m sorry, man.” 

“It’s not really me you should be sayin’ sorry to.”  Not that he doesn’t appreciate the effort or the execution; he absolutely does.  It’s just a little hard to muster the same enthusiasm for repeat performances, that’s all.  If any part of this act changed, _anywhere_ beginning to end, he’d probably have a little more to say.  “If I believed you every time you told me to fuck off, we’d have a lot more problems than we do.” 

AJ’s arm hooks over Brian’s leg, holds tight like his thigh’s an anchor.  “Nick’s really pissed, isn’t he?” 

“I actually don’t know; I won’t till I talk to him.  All I know right now is that watching it, he didn’t look half as pissed off as he was hurt.”  And really, Brian doesn’t want to return the favor; he doesn’t _want_ to hurt AJ but he won’t sugarcoat it either.  Sometimes he thinks there’s been too much of that. 

Pressed close to his thigh, he feels AJ’s throat work as he swallows.  “I just didn’t...I never wanted him to see me like this.” 

There’s a lot he could say, anything from how at 21 Nick isn’t a kid to be sheltered all the way to AJ being the only one in control of his own actions.  None of it would help, not when Brian can already refute it all himself.  They’re all guilty of seeing Nick through a dated filter, and even if it worked for five minutes or five weeks, convincing AJ to stop for Nick’s sake wouldn’t be doing anyone any favors.  This is puzzle he has to work out for himself or not at all.  Even more than moments like this, it’s the ‘not at all’ that’s been keeping Brian up nights. 

Brian kneads at the back of AJ’s neck with gentle pressure.  “He’s a tough kid.  Talk to him tomorrow; it’ll be alright.  He loves you so much; he’s just scared.”  _And I am too._   He never says it anymore; he doesn’t have to.  AJ hears it from Kevin enough, has to be able to feel it in the way Brian touches him, catch a glimpse in Howie’s eyes when AJ tries to coax him into another shot.  Fear is everywhere lately, more pervasive even than Kevin’s nervous anger. 

He hears the hitch in AJ’s breath, reaches without even looking to swipe at the corners of AJ’s eyes.  He fully expects it, but it still hurts when his thumb comes away wet, a sharp pain in the pit of his stomach that makes him hunch down a little further, draw his right leg in closer until his foot brushes AJ’s thigh. 

“Hey, hey—“  He chokes on the _it’s okay_ that sticks in his throat, swallows it back and shushes him wordless instead. 

“Shit, I just can’t stop fuckin’ shit up; I—“

“Don’t, don’t worry about that right now.  We’ll figure it out.”  And maybe, maybe this time they actually will.  The day he can’t keep up even a sliver of hope he’ll know there’s more damage done than he thought. 

“Why do you keep doing this?  Aren’t you tired of picking up after me?”

Brian’s heart jolts, his hand sliding down so his fingers can clench in the collar of AJ’s shirt, a solid grip.  “I’m exhausted, but it’s not…not the way you’re thinkin’.  Am I tired of you coming back to us a mess, sure.  Yeah, absolutely.  It pisses me off and it scares me to death and I hate how things are right now, for all of us.  I do.  But I’m not tired of looking after you.  You’ll get old waiting for that.”  God willing.  The luxury of seeing AJ turn into a bald old man covered head to toe in fading color is one he’s not sure he’ll be granted. 

“ _Why_?”  He’s so raw, so broken open.  He _means_ it; he can’t understand, and that hurts Brian more than it probably should.  AJ didn’t say it to cut him; he knows that much.  Intent matters, sometimes more than others, sometimes because it has to. 

Brian tilts his head back against the couch behind them, closes his eyes and listens to his own breath, to the soft sounds of AJ trying not to cry.  “There’s not one reason, and I can’t give you a list.  And I know that I can do everything I can for you, pick you up a thousand times and still not really fix anything, not if you won’t let me help.  I know that.  But, I know too that if I’m here, maybe I can keep you just a little safer.  Could be that’s just what I tell myself, but it matters.”  Brain takes a breath, forces back the memory that struggles to rise of the argument he’d had with Kevin about all this just two days ago, flashes of statistics and the life expectancy of musicians.  “Maybe it’s that I couldn’t bear to be anywhere else.  I love you too much.”  He hates the way he says it, more like a decreed sentence than a celebration.  He slips his hand just inside AJ’s shirt, grips his shoulder and tries again.  “I love you.” 

It’s not perfect, too thin this time, but it sounds better. 

AJ doesn’t have to say a thing for Brian to know half of what’s on his mind could be summed in one short _you shouldn’t_.  He doesn’t want to hear it, and he’s grateful when AJ doesn’t say it.  Instead he shifts a little higher until he nuzzles against Brian’s stomach, his arm sliding up to drape against Brian’s waist.  His eyes are still wet, still red, but he holds Brian’s gaze steady when Brian looks down at him. 

“You need to sleep, Rok.” 

“I will.  We’ve got time; it’s not even light out there yet.”  He starts to hum, aimless until AJ’s eyes start to close and then he sings, Landslide because Fleetwood Mac is all Nick has listened to for days now.  He can’t sing Stevie the way he thinks Nick can, especially not now when he keeps it quiet and soft, but the song comes easy and maybe it’s illusion but when he finishes he’s almost sure he feels a little better. 

AJ’s hand slides under his shirt, rubs light against his ribs.  “Do Songbird.”  His face is buried against Brian’s stomach, his murmured request muffled and sleepy.  It’s a little thing, a blip, but he sounds like himself and the hand at Brian’s side is careful, almost reverent.  Windows to the AJ _they_ know are few and far between these days.  If it keeps this one open for a while, Brian’ll sing until he passes out. 

AJ falls asleep halfway through Never Make Me Cry but Brian keeps going anyway, sings until it’s light and the bus is moving and he can’t keep his eyes open anymore. 


	2. 02. Kevin

**02\. Kevin**

At this point in his life, Brian’s too used to shifting time zones to be able to successfully blame London for why he can’t sleep.  It’s always been easier to him to cross the Pacific going east rather than west, and their plane touched down two days ago.  He’s adjusted, or he _should_ be at any rate, but a quick check of his phone tells him it’s 3:27 AM and he’s yet to sleep at all.  Nick’s fast asleep next to him, taking up a good 80% of the bed.  The rest or the fellas are downstairs, down the hall and a ways but the sound of Howie and AJ’s laughter faded out a long time ago.    

He’s prayed, he’s stared at the fan, he’s watched Nick sleep.  He’s thought too much about his voice and the new album and Kevin and _everything_ and really, he probably should have given up and gone downstairs to make himself some tea over an hour ago.  If he’s going to be exhausted tomorrow, he can at least try to make sure his voice sounds _less_ like shit. 

Brian rolls over carefully, lets his hand rest light against Nick’s stomach.  “Hey.  I’ll be back, okay?”  He whispers as soft as he can, leans over to press a kiss to Nick’s chest through his shirt he knows he won’t feel; it’s more for his comfort than Nick’s anyway.  It’s interesting, how old habits can burrow so deep they become like superstition.  When Nick was young he hated being alone even more than he does now, so much that he’d feel it the minute one of them went to leave.  For the rest of his life Brian knows he’ll remember the feel of Nick’s hand on his wrist in the dark, the way he’d crane his neck to lean back into the bunk to kiss his temple, his mouth, whatever he could reach.  _Hey, it’s okay.  I’m not leavin’; I’ll be right back._  

He supposes it probably says something good about what they’ve built that Nick can sleep right through it now, so sure they’ll still be there when he wakes up that he doesn’t have to hold on so tight.  Brian’s less eager to examine what it says about himself that he sort of misses it. 

He snatches his phone off the top of Nick’s guitar case, shuffles barefoot around it to head toward the stairs and bites his tongue when he almost steps on the cold metal of a belt buckle.  Two days, and Nick’s shit’s already everywhere.  He can’t say he’s surprised.   He creeps down the stairs close to the wall, winces just a little when he hits a spot that creaks.  It takes time to learn a house’s secrets; if they stay here long enough working on this record maybe he’ll remember to skip that one.  That, or he’ll start getting some sleep.  That sounds like a better option. 

It’s not until he’s at the bottom of the stairs and moving toward the kitchen that he notices a light still on down the hall, the door cracked but with enough shining through to throw a sliver that’s just a little too bright next the diffused light of London by night that’s coming in through all the windows.  It’s probably nothing, hell maybe Nick left it on before he came up to bed but his curiosity’s got the better of him so he follows it, past the kitchen and three closed doors. 

Brian pushes the door open carefully, wider when he sees the room isn’t as empty as he thought.  Kevin’s on the couch, sort of, though he’s draped so far forward over the keyboard set up in front of him he looks a bit like a cat melting from one piece of furniture to another.  His headphones are knocked down to hang around his neck and he’s unquestionably out, his face half tucked into the crook of his elbow and pressed to the keys in a way that can’t possibly be comfortable.  He’s quite the picture—come to think of it, Brian’s tempted to take one of those but it’s hard to stop staring.  It’s been a long time since Kevin was a constant presence in their lives, since he had the luxury of stumbling on him being his endearing exasperating workaholic self. 

On the last tour he remembers dreaming once that he woke up to find Kevin in the kitchen, remembers how it felt to _actually_ wake up and have coffee and cereal feeling like the spot to his left was painfully empty.  He could’ve called, but it wouldn’t have been the same.  Nothing’s been the same for ages and yes, alright, they’ve talked about this and maybe nothing’ll ever be quite the _same_ again; they’re hoping for a little better.  The verdict’s still out, but there’s something wonderfully settling about how solid Kevin feels under his fingers when he steps up to rub his back.  He’s warm, familiar, undeniably real. 

Kevin inhales deep, almost pulls his head up too fast and knocks his chin against the keys.  The muffled sound of the notes rises from the headphones and Brian hooks his fingers around the back, lifts them gently off as Kevin starts to blink up at him, bleary and unfocused. 

“Brian.  Hey.”  He’s a little scratchy, sleep rough.  Brian wants to kiss him, focuses instead on hanging the headphones off the corner of the keyboard and shutting it off. 

“Hey.  Thought you might come up a few hours ago.”  And he had, though maybe it’s not entirely logical.  The bed’s here aren’t large enough for more than two of them to really sleep in and tonight that’s all they’d gone upstairs to do.  He read his Bible; Nick played World of Warcraft for all of thirty minutes before he shoved his computer under the bed and passed out.  So it’s not as if he expected Kevin to _join_ them, really, but…

It’s been so long, it’s hard to find equilibrium.  It never seemed hard before, but they’ve spent the last almost five years as a group of four, not five.  They’re used to splitting off into shifting pairs now, and the situation here doesn’t exactly make it easier to break the habit.  It’s not like they’re starting over from scratch, but it’s undoubtedly a transition, a beginning of a different kind. 

“Howie came in earlier wantin’ me to come play dominos with him and AJ but I was workin’ on something so I told him I’d be in later but then it was quiet so I figured…”  Kevin stretches, arches back against the couch then slumps into it.  “Thought I might as well keep going.” 

Plausible enough, but nothing about the distance across the last few years has done a damn thing to how deep they know each other.  He can read everything in the way Kevin’s not looking at him, too busy watching his fingers as he twists his ring.  Whatever he’s gotten into his head it’s been dogging at him since they got here, maybe earlier than that—he only knows that there’s something about his hesitance now that reminds Brian of the way he’d kissed Nick last week back in Kentucky, too passive, too willing to let him go when AJ slipped in close to rub at Nick’s shoulders. 

It can’t be insignificant, not when he knows how much Kevin loves kissing Nick.  He knows him so well, in fact, that he can imagine how it would have gone _before_ , how Kevin’s hands would have gone to Nick’s hips to pull him forward and into his lap, all the way until he could feel how hard Kevin was for him.  The five of them have been at this intricate dance for most of their lives; there’s certain familiar steps they all know on sight.  Just like Brian knows that if he lets AJ fuck him it’ll end louder than he means for it to, he knows that Kevin and Nick are almost never finished making out until they’re grinding against each other and Kevin’s so hungry the look on his face would be enough to make anyone shiver.  It’s a hold over from the early days between the two of them, when Nick was fighting for Kevin to treat him like a man and Kevin was doing his damn best to make them both take things slow.  It’s a compromise and an affirmation, a _see what you do to me_ that’s become so familiar Brian could see the flash of something in Nick’s eyes as Kevin let him go.  Rejection or confusion, he wasn’t sure which.  Both, more than likely.  Kevin had been unreadable, but the moment passed and they all went on.  Looking at him now, though, it seems a symptom of something larger. 

Now, and yesterday, and at the airport, and hell, even on the last cruise, on the bus after the Staples Center show in LA.  It’s not constant, more insidious, but there’s been something too careful about him for far too long, ever since he started coming around all four of them at once again. 

Brian sighs, nudges at Kevin’s knee with his.  “Come on.  Scoot over.” 

Kevin’s compliant, if a bit sleepy and uncoordinated.  He moves to shift himself down against the arm of the couch and Brian flops down before he’s even finished, closer but angled to face him, one leg hooked over both of Kevin’s.  They fit together so easy, Kevin’s hand coming to rest against Brian’s calf, his other arm stretched lazily across the back cushions, fingers brushing Brian’s hair.  It’s still comfortable, still wholly natural. 

Brian breathes a little easier.  “Alright.  You wanna tell me what’s up with you?”   

Kevin swallows, rubs lightly at Brian’s leg.  Whether he’s trying to distract Brian or himself, Brian’s not sure.  “It’s nothing to worry about; I’m fine, you know, it’s just been longer since I did this.  You guys made two records while I sat on my ass.  I just need to be sure I’m pulling my weight.   I don’t want to…slow the process down.   I’m just a little nervous, I guess.  I want to give this my best.  That’s all it is.” 

“So that’s what’s keeping you up by yourself in the middle of the night; just about the album?” 

Kevin laughs, soft and short.  The smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth is faint.  “You’re up too.  You wanna talk about that?”

“That’s just jetlag.”

“You never have jetlag goin’ east.” 

“And you’re usually not the one with a 4 AM crisis, but here we are.”  He gets the laugh he wants, a little better, a little more honest, but it’s still light and Kevin’s still not looking at him. 

“I wouldn’t call it a crisis.”

“What would you call it?”

“It‘s not 4 AM just yet either.”  He tips his wrist up to show off his watch, and Brian knocks his knee against it. 

“Don’t you be a smartass.”  Brian shifts closer, his shoulder sinking a little deeper into well cushioned leather as he reaches out to catch Kevin’s hand.  “C’mon, cuz, talk to me.  If it’s not a crisis, what is it?” 

Kevin’s fingers slip between his, idly tracing and retreating a few times like he’s chasing the moment Brian catches him, the way he holds on just lightly enough to always let Kevin pull free.  “I don’t know.  I guess there’s part of me that feels like it shouldn’t be this easy.  I walked out, I left when I should have stayed and after that…it was hard being gone, but asking to come back in, that’s hard too because what right do I really have?  The four of you kept going, you stuck it out and no matter what I tell Nick or myself or anyone else about how I’ve still been here for all of you it’s not the same and no one knows that better than me.  I guess the bottom line is…even _I_ feel like I’m askin’ too much, and if that’s how I feel I don’t see how all of you—“

“Yeah, but we don’t.  We don’t see it like that at all.”  Of all the emotions they’ve had about this whole mess, there’s never been a day one of them said that Kevin shouldn’t come back.  Not once.  Well, he’s not entirely sure what Nick said to Kevin back in the days when he was at his worst but even if he had, as soon as he sobered up he’d have been the first to tell Kevin he didn’t mean it.  “There’s not a day since you left that we haven’t wanted you to come home; however rough it’s been I don’t honestly think any of us really doubted you’d eventually do it, either.  Now you have, and it’s…” 

Like the breath you take when you break the surface of water, like the wash of relief when you jerk awake from a dream where you thought you were falling to find you’re safe after all.  It’s not that the last few years have been a _nightmare_ ; there’s been good times and bad but there was always something about it hard to define, a fuzziness around the edges that made it all a little dimmer, almost unreal.  AJ’s answer is simpler, Brian knows.  Any time he talks about it he’s quick to say it never felt right, not for a day, but for Brian the answer’s more elusive.  If he’d felt like he’d lost Kevin completely maybe he’d say the same but it all felt more like a surreal in between, prolonged stasis with points here and there pulled into sharp focus. 

Brian shakes his head, though nothing gets clearer.  “It’s hard to put it into words, and I know that’s not the answer you want but for me, I…I guess I never expected you _wouldn’t_ come back.  I knew you would; I knew you just needed some time.  We’d all been through a lot.”

“Yeah, but that’s the thing, isn’t it?”  Kevin’s mouth quirks, his smile dying before it even takes root.  “We’d _all_ been through a lot.  And I’m the only one who backed out.  You can’t tell me you don’t…that you don’t have _any_ feelings about that, cause I know I do.” 

It wouldn’t do much good to point out that technically, everyone has feelings about everything, to some degree, even if they’re ambivalent.  Not that his feelings _are_ ambivalent, but that’s kind of where Brian would rather this conversation not go.  Brian squeezes Kevin’s fingers, tugs his hand closer to rest against the inside of Brian’s knee.  “So how do you feel about it?” 

“Angry.  Guilty.  Ungrateful, like…I’ve given up something I can’t get back.”

“You’ve got us.  We’re right here.”  He has to say it, has to give him the reminder even though he knows it’s not quite what Kevin means. 

“Tell me something, then.” 

Brian tilts his head toward Kevin’s hand on the back of the couch, hums low in his throat when Kevin’s fingers rake through his hair. 

“You and me.”  The warmth in his voice hurts, like sunlight layered over tones that forever remind Brian of home.  “Are we okay?”

He could say yes, immediately.  It wouldn’t be a lie and it’d make Kevin smile and Brian could lean in and take the kiss he’d wanted when he first walked in.  It’d be nice, comforting and comfortable and exactly what he _would_ have done if this had all been a year ago, but things have changed now.  Kevin’s back and they’ve all agreed that moving forward from here, they have to go into this expecting him to stick around forever.  There’s no way to do this but to go all in, and that’s the part that’s holding him up right now because sure, yes wouldn’t be a _lie_ , but it wouldn’t be the whole truth either.  They came to London half to write, half to remind all of them what it was like when they first fell in love—realizing on foreign soil that so long as they stayed together they were home. 

It’s not like renewing a marriage, exactly, because marriage is one thing they can’t have, but it’s about as close as they’ll get.  It’s about commitment, dedication and restoration and it feels too sacred for half-truths, even if they’d be easier. 

“You’re scaring me a little.”  Kevin whispers, but Brian hears the strain.  He’s been quiet too long, so wrapped up in deciding it didn’t occur to him to think that Kevin can’t hear him thinking, knows nothing about levels of honesty or anything but the fact that he asked a question that terrified him and Brian’s still just sitting there.  _Shit_.

“Hey, no, no I didn’t mean—“  He pulls Kevin’s hand even closer, lets his right clutch at the hem of Kevin’s shirt like he needs the precaution to keep him there.  “It’s not like that; we’re okay now, it’s just there’s a lot we haven’t talked about, you know, and I thought…”  Now, right now while they _are_ talking, he might as well get it all out in the open.  He should look at Kevin while he says it, he really should, but the back of Kevin’s hand is the best he can do.  “I was jealous of you, with Nick.  I know it’s stupid; you helped him pull himself together and I should be nothin’ but grateful and I am, I really am but if we’re talking absolute truth here I can’t deny it.  You said I had to feel something about you leaving that I hadn’t said and that’s it.”  Brian swallows, his tongue heavy.  “I know that a good part of why you left was you not wanting to lose him up close.  I understood that.  But I stayed; I was living it, every day, but in the end I could only help him tread water.  You helped get him out, and I couldn’t.  Maybe it’s selfish, but that hurt.” 

No, not past tense.  He can feel it, gnawing in his stomach, dark and bitter and unwanted.  He’s already admitted it’s there; he might as well go all the way.  “Yeah, no.  It still hurts.  I’m not proud of it, but it’s the truth.”  It _is_ selfish; he knows it is, but he never said he was perfect.  No matter how the world sees him, how the fans see him, hell, how _Nick_ sees him, at the end of the day he’s just a man, as fallible as any other.  Maybe that’s part of the point; maybe there was a lesson in all that mess he didn’t learn.  He’s always prided himself in being the one Nick trusts to take care of him in ways no one else can, but maybe his pride’s the problem.  After all, it’s not for nothing it’s been call the root of all sin.

He can feel Kevin thinking in the slide of his thumb against the side of Brian’s hand, the way his left hand slips from Brian’s hair to knead at the nape of his neck.  It’s nice, even if he still feels like there’s something nasty scrabbling to get out of his stomach. 

“When I went and stayed with him that last time before he quit using, after you’d told me about his heart…” 

Brian nods, makes himself shift his gaze enough to glance at Kevin’s face.  There’s no anger there; miraculous really because Brian’s pretty sure everything he just said should have earned him some measure of it at least. 

“Everything was a mess; I mean _he_ was a mess but the whole place was just worse than I’d ever seen it.  For the most part even he could hardly find a damn thing, so I started tryin’ to put some of it together for him while he was out, thinking if I got things cleaned up a little…I don’t know; gave me something to do.  Anyway, after my second or third night there he comes back some time after dawn and he’s all messed up, starts looking all over for his phone charger thinkin’ I’d moved it, freaking out when he can’t find it.”  Kevin’s thumb taps against his jaw, waits in silence until Brian looks up at him again.  “About fifteen minutes later, he finally finds it in a drawer by the bed.  I plugged it in for him; his hands were shaking too bed and we…I got him to sit down on the bed and I’m trying to tell him I’m pretty sure I’m the only one that called.  I thought he was worried he’d missed something, but he curls up in the middle of the bed and all he wants to do is listen to these voicemails he’s got saved on his phone.  Had to be a couple dozen at least, probably nearly every time you called him worried when he wouldn’t answer.”

Kevin shakes his head slow, caught up in remembering.  “I told him I’d get you on the phone for him, but he wouldn’t have it.  Said he just wanted to listen; he felt like he’d taken a little too much and hearing you always helped him come down.  Told me not to tell you cause he thought you might be upset.” 

Brian’s not sure if _upset_ ’s the right word, but his eyes are burning.  He blinks, looks away and breathes until he’s sure his voice’ll hold.  It probably would, but when he first opens his mouth nothing comes out so he shuts it. 

“The truth is, I know you think I saved him; I know he thinks it too but if you hadn’t been there to hold him together, if he hadn’t been as strong as he is…whatever help I could give him wouldn’t have mattered.  He wouldn’t have made it far enough.” 

He doesn’t really like to think about that, either, though it’s probably true.  There were a thousand points in those years that had to go exactly right for things to end up where they are right now, likely more even than he knows.  If that theory is true about layered universes breaking off from every point in time, every decision, there’ s probably more worlds out there where they lost Nick at 28 than he could count.  Even the suggestion makes him queasy.  He clenches his hand against Kevin’s to fight it, feels ready to breathe again when Kevin squeezes back.  Here he is, telling Kevin this stupid thing he’s carried around like a thorn under his skin for the last few years and Kevin’s not mad, he’s not all righteously wounded the way Nick would have been.  He’s comforting, forgiving, accepting…it makes perfect sense, really, that what Nick needed at his worst was Kevin.  He’s a man of incredible contrasts, firm when he needs to be, full of tenderness as soon as his temper cools. 

They’re lucky to have him; _Brian’s_ lucky to have him, and he feels like an ass.  “Maybe he wouldn’t have; I don’t know, and you’re right that he’s strong.  We all know that, but he needed you.  There’s no way around that, and there shouldn’t be; I wasn’t saying—“  Even just seeing him out of the corner of his eye he can tell Kevin’s about to speak, raises his voice just a little to stop him.  “—all that cause I wanted you to tell me it was okay.  It’s not; I know that, and that’s something I have to deal with.  It’s something I _did_ mostly deal with already and I mean it, we’re okay.  I wasn’t sure I was ever gonna bring it up at all, but you asked and I thought…I didn’t feel right not telling you.”

“I’m glad you did.”  He probably means it too, but his voice is all soft again.  He’s still too careful, and Brian’s not sure if he made it better or worse.  Shit, he didn’t sit down here to talk about _himself_.   

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—“  But no, maybe that’s not quite right either because getting everything back on solid ground between the two of them was sort of the point.  Still, he _does_ owe an apology in there, just maybe not for this particular moment.  “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything before.  I just…I wasn’t _mad_ ; it wasn’t like that it was just this…this thing I wished I could get out of my head.”

“You think now you can?” 

Brian nods, though it’s not until he’s already done it that he realizes how true it is.   He can’t say he’s had an epiphany, exactly, and even if it feels gone right at this second he can’t be sure those little wisps of jealousy won’t rear back up a month or two from now, but he feels better.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I do.”  Brian smiles, slight at first though it widens when Kevin smiles back.  “We weren’t supposed to talk about this right now.  I sat down here to convince you we’re all in this together.” 

“Who says you didn’t?”  He can’t see how he possibly could have, not spouting off with his own issues like that.  It must show on his face because Kevin catches the back of Brian’s shirt, pulls on him until Brian shifts around enough to lean into Kevin’s chest.  He’s wonderfully warm, such a welcome presence that a soft sound bubbles from Brian’s chest.  In response, Kevin kisses the curve of his shoulder.  “You don’t fight with people who don’t matter.  Not that this was a _fight_ , but I know you.  If you didn’t think I was staying, you wouldn’t have said anything.”

“I _know_ you’re staying.”

“Good.”  Kevin slips his arms around Brian’s waist, his breath soft and warm against Brian’s cheek.  He _does_ know Kevin’s staying for good this time around, he’s known it for a while but there’s still something grounding in the affirmation of it, the way Kevin holds on a little tighter and hums into his mouth when Brian turns his head to claim a kiss.  Kevin’s tongue flicks against his lower lip, quick and more cautious than Brian wants. 

His breath catches and he shakes his head once, his mouth brushing light and tempting across Kevin’s.  “Don’t do that.  Don’t think about it; just kiss me.”  There’s so much Kevin could be getting caught on, everything from fears he can’t shake about whether he belongs with them now to memories of the last time they were together like this, just the two of them.  It was Lexington, the week after Brian had heard Nick’s heart might not last the year.  He told Kevin everything and they cried together, fell asleep in a bed at Brian’s parents’ house, woke up in the middle of the night and made love because any space at all between them suddenly seemed too much.  They’d been so desperate to comfort each other then, so full of pain.  He has far worse memories from those years, but it’s a reminder of distance, of everything he wants to pull Kevin away from. 

He nuzzles close, lips parted in an invitation that Kevin takes.  There’s less hesitation this time, the stroke of his tongue deliberate as he seeks Brian’s.  Brian moans, revels in the sharp tug of heat that flares low in his stomach when Kevin’s hand flattens against it at the sound.  This is familiar, easy and old though the buzz that comes from Kevin’s mouth on his feels just has heady now as it did at nineteen.  The first time they’d been just out back of the old practice space in Orlando, burning up in the summer heat.  His hand was underneath Kevin’s shirt, pressed to his back harder than he needed to because the world was spinning and if he didn’t hold onto Kevin, it just might fall out from under him. 

His thoughts had flickered fast then, past the undeniable fact that he was half hard already to the faint observation that he might actually go to hell for this.  He only came close to panicking when he realized that probably wasn’t enough to stop him from doing it again.  Kevin beat him to it, kissed him again, chaste this time though his lips were still damp, murmured an _it’s alright, Brian; it’s gonna be alright._   For the moment, it’d been enough to catch Brian before he even started to fall, a reassurance that let him shut down the clamor of doubt long enough to realize that fear aside, nothing about what they were doing felt wrong.  Not one part. 

Close to twenty years later, he’s had more than enough time to learn just how true that is. 

They kiss lazily, deep and wet and punctuated here and there by soft sounds that leave them grasping at each other, but there’s no heat of intent behind it, no driving need.  They have time for that; all the time they need.  For now this is enough, aimless kisses and the sleepy way Kevin rubs circles over his shirt with his thumb. 

How long it goes on he’s not sure, only knows that when he pulls back far enough to lay his head on Kevin’s shoulder he looks tousled, lips kiss swollen.  He’s beautiful, and Brian can’t resist touching him, ruffling at his hair.  “We should go to bed.”  And they _should_ , though there’s a voice that sounds like Nick’s in the back of his mind that tells him he sounds like an old man, that ten years ago he’d have been telling Kevin how sexy he looks right now instead.  Maybe it’s true; maybe he’s old.  He’s not sure he minds. 

Kevin sighs, rubs absently at Brian’s arm.  “Yeah, but we’d have to get up.  Let’s just sleep here.” 

They could, and they’d regret it in a couple hours.  Back in the day they could sleep anywhere, from airport floors to limo seats.  Somewhere in his bag upstairs, he’s got a picture of AJ asleep on a luggage cart in Vienna.  Brian laughs, shoves at Kevin’s arm that’s anchoring him in place.  “Yeah, and what about your knees?  Barely enough room for one of us on this thing.”

“We can manage.”

“I mean, maybe _I_ could but—“  He yelps as Kevin nips at the back of his neck, Kevin shushes him and then they’re both laughing, wrestling all clumsy and sleepy until Brian ends up on the floor.  For all of a second or two Kevin looks triumphant, but he’s stretched out, unbalanced and it’s not that hard for Brian to stand up and sweep him up. 

Kevin manages to get out a quick protest but it doesn’t matter, really, because muscle memory is stronger and they’ve done this a hundred times, a hundred places, playing around and showing off for the fans on stage and off it, messing around just the five of them on buses and in venues.  By the time he’s bothered to protest Kevin’s already holding on, shifting his weight so it’s easier for Brian to hold him. 

It’s funny, really, the way it all just comes right back. 

\-------

The bed moves, and Brian wakes disoriented, feeling almost hungover the way he does when he’s had less than three hours of sleep.  He blinks, looks up to see light filtering in between the blinds and Nick squeezing into bed on Kevin’s other side.  There’s no room for him but he _makes_ room, nudges at Kevin until he shifts so close to Brian they end up impossibly tangled. 

Nick sighs, rests his chin on Kevin’s shoulder.  “ ‘s cold upstairs.” 

“It’s hot enough outside; you should’ve just gone for a walk.  We gotta get up soon anyway, get to work.”  Kevin mumbles without opening his eyes, scratchy and uneven but without any real bite. 

Nick swipes at him, misses and hits Brian’s shoulder instead.  “Fuck that; we can work later.  It’s like fuckin’…I don’t know, six or something.  Time to sleep.” 

Brian wasn’t cold to begin with but with three people overlapping it’s a little hot, not quite comfortable.  It reminds him of early days in Europe, of a bed on a plane they took around the world. 

He lays his head against Kevin’s chest and falls asleep. 


	3. 03. Nick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have had an insanely long day, and this chapter turned out different than I originally planned and....
> 
> Well, I think I like it like this but again, super fucking long day so I really don't know anymore. Someone tell me if they like this please, lmao

**03\. Nick**

Brian kicks the door shut behind him, his arms too full of bags to do it properly.  “Nick, I’m home!”  The door slams as Brian shuffles over to the island, sliding bags off his hands with a grateful wince.  He’d carried everything in one trip rather than go back, but his fingers’ll be paying for it for a while.  They had most of their groceries delivered, but for _this_ he’d wanted to go out himself—no service however well-intentioned or informed could gather supplies for Nick’s birthday half as well as he could.  At this point, he can safely say he’d been there for the majority of them. 

Granted, his actual birthday had passed on Saturday, but the rest of the boys were down in Florida visiting Howie’s family.  Between the short solo tour Nick was taking on soon and getting back on the road with the New Kids, they’d all agreed there likely wouldn’t be another good chance for anything like a vacation for quite a while.  Given those circumstances, they’d decided Nick’s birthday was moveable.  Well, sort of.  He and Brian had celebrated, illegally, though Nick swore it didn’t count because there’d been no cake involved. 

There _was_ cheesecake involved, but Nick’s rules for life are often bizarre and complicated.  Brian’s gotten used to it.

Brian unpacks in a disorganized way that’d drive Kevin crazy if he was here, whipping everything out of the bags to lay out on the counter first.  The living room behind him is still oddly silent, staircase too, but he calls out to Nick anyway.  “They were out of the peanut butter ice cream but there’s mint chocolate chip and we can try again before the guys get in on Friday.  Found the mini M&M’s though!  If you eat ‘em all before Howie gets here to make the icing, it’s not my fault; I’m just warning you now.” 

His teasing is met with complete and utter silence, and though he wasn’t concerned at all when he first walked in the door, he’s starting to feel a little uneasy now.  When he left, Nick had been upstairs picking around on his guitar.  He’d mentioned doing some gaming last night while he still had a few good days off so Brian had fully expected him to be parked in front of Skyrim when he got home, but a glance over his shoulder tells him that even the room is dark.  He hasn’t been downstairs at all. 

Brian sets the six pack of beer in his hands down on the counter, half in half out of the sack.  “Frack?  You gonna come help me with these groceries?” 

Nothing, not so much as the creak of a floorboard.  Worse, he notices too late that Nick isn’t the only thing missing.  Nacho should be scuttling around underfoot right about now, doing his best to get a peek at the food.  The only thing that’d trump groceries is Nick, and that can’t mean anything good. 

Brian swallows against the way his heart jolts, brushes condensation from the bottles off on his jeans as he turns to head toward the stairs.  He wants to run, doesn’t let himself because he’s probably overreacting; he almost definitely _has_ to be overreacting because it’s been a long, long time since he found Nick passed out anywhere.  He’s been clean almost four years; it seems highly unlikely he’d break it now.  Besides that, he knows Nick—if he _is_ overreacting and Nick thinks he suspected him, _Nick_ will overreact and they’ll be fighting the rest of the night.  They’ve only got a couple weeks off the road to relax and be halfway normal; wasting one of those nights screaming at each other isn’t exactly what he had in mind. 

(And still, he can’t stop the way part of him’s preparing for the possibility that Nick’s started using again—if he’s passed out, once he’s up Brian’ll tell him it’s alright, everyone slips up sometimes no matter how hard they try.  They’ve seen AJ through it; they’ll see him through it too.  Brian just hopes they don’t have to.) 

At the top of the stairs, Brian hears the shower running.  He’s so relieved he takes a second to lean against the wall, rein his fears in a little.  Nick’s in the shower, and Nacho’s probably asleep outside the door.  Over the noise, neither one of them could hear; it makes sense, it’s—

Not all that’s happened, because he’s turned the corner into the bedroom and that’s Nick’s phone lying in the middle of the floor, screen shattered like he threw it as hard as he possibly could.  Brian should know the look; he’s seen Nick do it before.  _Shit_.  Brian takes a deep breath.  “Nick?” 

His only answer is a soft, warbling pug whine, followed by the rapid scrabbling of Nacho’s paws against the closed bathroom door.  Based on the scratches Brian can see on the paint even from across the room, he’s been at his vigil for some time. 

Brian gives up on not running. 

He shoves the door open as soon as he reaches it, bursts in and immediately coughs against the steam.  The bathroom here in Nashville is huge, most of the room taken up by a walk in shower they’d designed big enough to share.  Nick’s got every shower head turned on, blasting out water so hot it’s hard to even see him through the fog, but Brian does.  He’s on the floor, huddled against the wall like he’s trying to melt into it.  If he’s even heard Brian come in, he hasn’t so much as twitched to show it. 

Brian goes right to him, drops to his knees and reaches out with a careful hand to smooth Nick’s hair back.  He flinches, blinks up at Brian like he’s just now noticed him, though his eyes are clear.  He doesn’t look like he’s on a damn thing, but there’s something so lost and panicked there that Brian already feels sick.  He has the fleeting thought that whatever’s happened, a relapse might have been better.  He tamps it down quick, narrows his focus back to Nick where it belongs. 

Painstakingly slow, Brian strokes his thumb beneath Nick’s eye, swiping away a few clinging drops of water.  “Hey.  What’s goin’ on?  You’ve got Nacho pretty freaked out there.”    So much so that he’s still barking, too nervous about the slick tile to come closer, too worried about Nick to leave.

“Can’t get warm.  I was freezing; I thought if I came in here…it’s not working.” 

Maybe not to the point he can notice it, but his skin’s burning up.  Still, a little hot water’s not gonna hurt him.  Brian squeezes gently at the back of his neck, tugs a little to coax him forward.  “Here.  C’mere, I’m warm; let me help.” 

Nick doesn’t just come readily; he pushes up off the floor and clings to him with almost frightening eagerness.  It reminds Brian too much of the way Nick used to grab at him when he was stoned out of his mind, too desperate to reassure himself of Brian’s reality to do anything short of hold on with all his might. 

Brian catches him, holds on just as fiercely, almost rough out of habit.  When he was coming down once, Nick had told him that all the Brians that weren’t real, they wouldn’t touch him once he reached for them.  After that, anytime his reality might be in question Brian’s done his best to be decisive in proving himself concrete. 

Nick sucks in a sharp breath that feels like a struggle, presses his face hard into the crook of Brian’s neck.  “This can’t be happening; it can’t…I’m still…you’re not here and she’s….” 

Brian almost doesn’t want to ask.  He bows his head, rubs Nick’s back with a gentle touch.  “Did something happen with your mom?”  As bad as things are between them right now, if something’s happened to her, there’s no telling how hard Nick’ll take it.  The last time they were in the same room together they couldn’t even stay cordial for five minutes much less loving. 

Nick’s laughter is high and quick, hysterical and cut off by another gasp for air.  “Not yet; I mean I threw the fuckin’ phone before she could call but she will.  I mean fuck if she doesn’t call and yell at me who’s she gonna blame, right?  I mean not dad, sure he was right there but yelling at him’s gotten old by now I guess; you do something for so many years and it finally—“  The babbling cuts off abruptly as Nick’s voice wavers and for a heartbeat they’re frozen like that, Nick breathing heavy against Brian’s neck, his fingers wrapped up tight in the soaking wet cotton of Brian’s shirt. 

The silence is painful, and Brian’s afraid to break it.  He’s too afraid he’s got something of an idea where this is going; he can feel it in the twisting in his stomach, the sharp pain behind his eyes.  He swallows heavily, tilts his head a little further down.  There’s water running into his eyes, but like this he can press his lips to Nick’s hair. 

“Dad called.  Leslie’s dead.” 

Brian’s arms tighten convulsively around Nick, a ground for them both. 

 _Leslie’s dead_. 

Shit, the way he said it, it’s almost got the ring of rehearsal to it.  Practiced distance, like he’s been lying in the shower repeating it periodically until the words don’t sound like words, until it’s syllables that make up a phrase and carry nothing of his little sister in them at all. 

It all hits too deep; it’s too much, and at first all Brian can say is Nick’s name, whisper soft though by the flex of Nick’s fingers in his shirt he knows he hears. 

“It’s my fault.”

 _That_ stirs him; Brian’s shaking his head before he can even catch his breath.  “No, it isn’t.”  His voice is thick, audible proof of tears he can’t even feel on his cheeks under the water. 

“It is; he’s right, it is.  If I’d never—“

“Nick, you can’t do this—“

“If I’d helped—“

“You tried!”  The words echo back at him from the tile, and Brian immediately shuts his eyes.  Of all the times he’s managed to keep his cool and _not_ yell at Nick, he can hardly believe he’s failing right now.  He bites his tongue so hard he tastes blood, curls closer around Nick to lay his cheek against his shoulder.  “ ‘m sorry; I’m sorry but I know how hard you tried; we’ve all watched you do it.  You kept reaching out to her, Nick; it’s not your fault she kept slapping your hand back.  You can’t forget that.  I’m not about to let you.” 

“You wanna help me, tell me this isn’t happening.” 

Brian hums low, all instinct and sympathy.  “If I could, I’d do it.  You know I would.” 

“Then why aren’t you?  Why won’t you just…”  But he _knows_ , he knows better than Brian does because he took the call and because he is still clean, 100%.  He’s had so many bad days his mind wiped clean for him but this one, it’s got to be the worst and he can’t scrub it out, can only fight the reality of it for so long before it crushes him. 

His breath hitches, cracks around Brian’s name and into a sob so pained Brian’s chest aches. 

Comforting Nick is hardwired into him by now, a drive so bone deep it’s jarring to think they haven’t always been like this.  He’s held Nick while he’s cried more times than his mother likely ever did; hell, _any_ of them could probably swear to that.  Brian knows how to hold him, when to let him get it out in silence and when to tell him it’s alright, but this…

He can’t tell him it’s alright, can’t even tell him it’ll be over soon.  He’s got almost nothing, minus a few unshakable absolutes he murmurs in a constant loop against Nick’s shoulder. 

“I’ve got you.  I’ve got you, baby; I’m right here.  Just hold on.” 

\-------

Only when Nick has been breathing even for a full ten minutes does Brian risk the light of his phone.  Even then he’s careful, holding his breath as he leans over Nick to snag it off the end table where he’d laid it to dry after he peeled out of his wet clothes.  Nick and AJ might have their bizarre pseudo competition going on over who goes through the most phones in a year, but he’s never been more grateful that Howie talked him into going for a case that takes a much heavier beating than he is right now. 

The screen’s dry but he wipes it off reflexively on the patch of blanket over his hip anyway, unlocks it quick and starts a group message with everyone but Nick. 

**You guys need to get here.  911.  Leslie’s dead.**

The last time anything called for a 911, he’s pretty sure Nick was barely breathing.  Before that, there was AJ’s first overdose, Nick’s arrest years after, Howie’s dad—

The phone buzzes to life in his palm and Brian jerks, recovers quick and curses himself for it.  He just got Nick to pass out; the last thing he wants is to wake him up now that he’s finally got a chance to rest.  His phone is still ringing, AJ’s face lighting up the backdrop.  Brian silences the call and pulls up the conversation again. 

**Can’t talk right now; I just got him out.  He needs to sleep and I can’t leave him.**

Can’t, and won’t.  When he wakes up, it’s not gonna be to find Brian gone. 

[AJ] **What the fuck happened?**

Before Brian even starts to formulate his ‘I don’t actually know’, the messages keep coming. 

[AJ] **Did he talk to her?**

[AJ] **I mean HAS he talked to her since Thanksgiving?  Last I heard they weren’t speaking.**

[AJ] **This is crazy**

[Howie] **Shit, he hadn’t answered me but I just thought he was busy; I didn’t know…**

[Kevin] **Calling the airline now.  We’ll be out of here on the next flight or we’ll drive it.**

Brian doesn’t exactly envy whoever Kevin gets on the phone, but barring absolutely impossibility they’ll be here in the next few hours.  Sometime in the next 24 at the absolute latest.  Just the thought of the three of them on their way makes it a little easier to breathe.  It’s a little easier to type, too. 

**I don’t know much, guys.  No details.  He’s bad; I didn’t want to push.**

**And don’t worry about it Howie; you didn’t know.  I didn’t till I came home.  This came out of nowhere.**

He almost leaves it there, but his thumbs are hovering over the screen and then he’s going further before he can think better of it. 

**They’re blaming him.  They say he failed her**

His heart beats a little quicker after he sends it, goaded by rage.  He’s tried with Nick’s family for years, God knows he has, but this is it.  Everyone has a breaking point, even him.  For this, he already knows he’ll never forgive them even if Nick does, even if Nick wants _him_ to. 

[AJ] **oh fuck that**

[Kevin] **when he wakes up, I want to talk to him**

Right as he’s about to answer Kevin another text comes in, and for a moment he’s half sure he hallucinated the vibration because there’s nothing new on the screen.  His eyes catch on the ‘1’ up in the corner, and he flips back to find that Howie’s sent him something separate, between just the two of them.

[Howie] **How bad is he?  We’re all scared down here but Kev can’t sit still**

 _How_ bad is hard to say, because they don’t exactly have a scale for this.  There’s no sliding scale of Nick to compare this one to, not like there is for fights and hangovers and benders.  All he knows for certain is the way Nick had clung to him when he picked him to carry him out of the bathroom, the way his head had rested heavy against Brian’s shoulder too spent from crying to even bother to protest that he could’ve walked on his own.  He knows the way Nick looked at him after they were dry, curling up around each other under blankets Nick still shivered under.  The last time he’d looked so small and lost, he’d been thirteen, crying with his face buried against Brian’s stomach because his dad had said he was leaving, had almost hit Aaron when he begged him not to. 

He only notices the screen’s gone dark while he’s thought when the light comes on again, flashing in his eyes. 

[Howie] **Bri?**

**Yeah, sorry.  I don’t know, man.  It’s not good.  Mostly I think he’s still in shock.  When he isn’t, I think it’s you he’s gonna need the most.**

Out of all of them, only Howie knows how it feels to lose a sister.  Brian only knows how to comfort without really knowing what to do, how it felt to spend a day in a hotel room in Canada holding Howie while he tried to watch TV to distract himself only to wind up crying over shelties and tiger lilies and red shoes; anything that reminded him however faintly of Caroline.  He remembers the days after the Millennium release a year later, the taste of tears off Howie’s cheeks when he’d found him holding the copy he’d held back for her because if he answered too quick without thinking he still had three sisters, not two. 

The screen blurs, and Brian wipes his eyes clear with the back of his hand. 

[Howie] **The way this happened, I don’t think the shock’s going away anytime soon**

[Howie] **how are you holding up?**

Here, with just Howie who won’t worry more than he should, he doesn’t cushion his answer.

**I’m not**

[Howie] **yeah.  I hear you.**

[Howie] **we’ll get through this.**

They will; he knows.  He’s just not sure what Nick’ll look like by the time they do.

[Howie] **hey.  I love you.**

**I love you too.  Come home safe.**

He eases his phone back onto the end table where he’ll hear it rattle on the wood if it rings, nestles down so close to Nick that he instinctively shifts closer to Brian in his sleep.  He’s been like that since he was a kid, forever grasping, forever grateful for someone solid to hold onto. 

Brian kisses his forehead, murmurs comfort against his hair Nick will never hear and thinks that though he told Howie the truth, he didn’t specify exactly what it was he feels his shoulders caving under.  He may not know how Leslie died, but given the way things have gone with her the last few years, the blame he already knows is being shoved on Nick’s shoulders…there are few options but overdose; all that’s left are the details. 

He can’t help but think of AJ, sure, but it’s more than that, a vein of fear so deep it hurts even to try and pull it up into the light.  In his bad years, Nick was never more than a few pills and a drink or two away from this himself, dancing so close to the edge they’d all been sure at some point or other he’d fling himself right over it just for the sake of pulling away from all the hands trying to haul him back.  And Leslie, even after he got better, even after he tried his damn best to help her she was forever trying to drag him back down, looking for one party, one weekend. 

Nick never went and now, all Brian can see are two outcomes—

If he’d gone, maybe he could have stopped her. 

If he’d gone, maybe he’d be dead. 

Brian’s hand slips under Nick’s shirt, rests against the warmth of his stomach.  He counts the rise and fall of his breath, presses a kiss to Nick’s sleeve right over where he knows the shark is.  He’s _grateful_ ; there’s no denying what he feels.  Nick’s father and his mother and every other member of his damned family might have been willing to barter Nick’s life against hers like it’s all a fucking poker hand but he isn’t; he isn’t at all.  If staying away from her kept Nick safer, kept him breathing and coming home to them, then it was worth it, whether he’d have changed anything for her going back or not. 

He’ll choose anyone of the four of them over the rest of the world at any moment; every time.  Shit, when he looks at it like that there’s no question; he wouldn’t even blink.  He hurts for Leslie, for Nick, but the deepest pain he’s got in his chest right now is fear, lingering horror at the thought of how close they came to living through all this at a much sharper angle. 

Brian tucks his head against Nick’s shoulder and prays first for forgiveness, starts over when he realizes he shouldn’t lead with a lie, and he’s not sorry.  He’s not sorry at all. 


End file.
